


Keep on Coming Back

by HamPalpert



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst and Porn, Canon Divergent, Exes with Benefits, Open Relationships, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unresolved Issues, ambiguous ending, complicated feelings, indirect references to grief, poor communication, solo era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:27:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27085573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HamPalpert/pseuds/HamPalpert
Summary: In the fall of 2017, Louis and Harry briefly reunite.  Staying apart is difficult, but coming together is no longer the same.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Harry/OC
Comments: 34
Kudos: 89
Collections: 1d Breakup Fic Fest





	Keep on Coming Back

**Author's Note:**

> This work is set the day before Harry's Red Room performance, fall 2017. Although it is "canon" divergent, all events are fictional. Please read the tags before continuing.
> 
> Title from "Back to You" by Louis Tomlinson.

It's strange, being in this house alone. Everything is immaculate and unlived in, down to the fluffed up pillows on the lounge sofa. He's spent barely any time at this place. Never even unpacked a suitcase during his brief visits. Harry hasn't either, to be fair. He's hardly in LA these days.

Louis wanders around in his socks for at least fifteen minutes after putting away the grocery delivery Harry’s LA-based PA had ordered, moving awkwardly from room to room in search of something to occupy his time whilst he waits. This is why he comes late to things. He winds up in the rec room, television on low. He could use a drink.

The door leading to the garage opens and closes, and Louis hears the telltale double-thunk of Harry's boots hitting the floor as he toes them off.

“Hullo?” Harry shouts.

“In here,” Louis calls back, but gets off his arse anyway to meet Harry in the kitchen.

It's been weeks since they've truly seen one another. Their brief time together in New York was tarnished, as it always seems to be in some way, with PR bullshit and busy conflicting schedules. 

Harry looks travel-weary but beautiful, always beautiful. He tugs his ugly old man cap off his head and runs a hand through his short hair. It's lost nearly all of its curl– something Louis is secretly very disappointed by– and it's at that in-between length where it looks ridiculous when unstyled.

“How was the flight?” Louis leans against the worktop as Harry deposits his bag onto the kitchen table and snatches an apple from the fruit bowl.

“Same as always. Slept through most of it.”

Louis nods. Harry takes an enormous bite.

“Sam did groceries for a few days,” Louis tells him finally, after too much silence. “Wasn't sure of your plans.”

“I’m staying til tour starts,” Harry says through his mouthful, giving Louis that patented no-blink Styles Stare. “S’okay though. I'll set up another delivery when we need it.”

“Oh,” Louis says, surprised. “Are you gonna have people staying here?”

“No,” Harry says slowly, lowering his apple. “Just you and me, I thought.”

“Oh,” Louis says again, even more surprised. When Harry’d texted him two days ago about wanting to get together in LA he'd assumed it would be their usual quick fuck and cuddle before going about their lives again.

Harry's brows knit together. “Have you already got plans?”

“I mean. I've got studio time booked. Have to be seen out and about some time this week.” He shrugs. “Aren't you rehearsing?” Harry's Red Room performance is tomorrow evening. Louis's a little surprised Harry's even standing in front of him right now.

“Tomorrow morning. I asked for the night off. Jeff dropped me off himself.”

Louis barely refrains from rolling his eyes. Harry gives him a look, lips pursed, brows high. A warning not to start.

“Anyway,” Louis drawls, unable to keep the sarcasm entirely from his tone. “What are you thinking, rock star? Take out and a film?”

“For now,” Harry agrees, a glint in his eyes that Louis knows well. Louis can't help but fidget, tugging on the bottom of his tee-shirt in a years-old habit he can't break. Harry laughs loudly, then makes his move, coming around the kitchen island to crowd into Louis's space. He’s still got his apple in his one hand, but he wraps his arms around Louis anyway. Louis leans into the embrace, burying his nose into Harry’s shoulder. It feels good. Better than anything in his life lately. But it aches, too.

“You smell like airplane,” Louis says into Harry’s shoulder.

“You smell like cigarettes. Don’t smoke in the house, please. It’s still up for sale.” They pull apart too soon.

“So where’re you gonna live once this place is sold?” Louis wonders.

“Dunno,” Harry muses, moving past Louis to toss his apple core in the bin. “Hotel, maybe. Or couch surf.” 

It isn’t worth offering up Louis’s place. Harry refuses to step foot in it. Some days Louis gets it. It’s always been difficult for each of them to separate their real lives from their pretend lives. But other days he finds Harry’s stubbornness really fucking infuriating. And unfair.

“Well. I've got to go home eventually. Only got the one pair of pants.” He gestures at his body wryly.

He's set Harry up for the joke about not needing pants when they're together, but Harry doesn't take it, frowning instead.

“I told you I'd be coming.”

Louis spreads out his arms, palms up. “And here I am.”

“But you didn't even pack a bag.”

Louis cocks his head, irked, although he can't quite place why.

“Can't blame me for not being sure how long I'd be staying, mate.”

Harry pouts. “You knew when my tour started, though.”

Louis sighs. “Can hardly keep me own diary straight, much less someone else's. Anyway, I'm here now. You're here.” He tugs Harry forward by the belt buckle, and Harry comes willingly, grinning filthily.

“For a pants-free week.”

“There it is,” Louis crows, rewarding Harry with a sharp nip to his bottom lip. Harry whines and comes back for more, and Louis indulges him with a proper snog this time. “Know you wanna see me nakey -nakey naked,” Louis sings against Harry's lips, and Harry barks out a laugh, sliding his finger under the waistband of Louis's trackies, just at the elastic.

“Missed this,” he says, biting his bottom lip obscenely in that way he knows can’t be resisted, and looking at Louis from under his lashes. 

Louis makes a big deal out of rolling his eyes even as his dick twitches in interest. It’s not _‘missed you’_ but he’ll take it.

“On your knees, then.”

Harry obeys quickly, dropping to the ground far more gracefully than anyone gives him credit for, dimple popping with his trademark sexy smirk.

“Take it out,” Louis orders, voice already hoarse with want, and dick half-mast. It’s the Harry Effect. No matter how old he gets, his body’s ability to be turned on by Harry, no matter how frequent the sex, has sometimes defied logic. He can still hear Liam’s exasperated voice in his head from behind the closed dressing room door. _“Again? Seriously?”_

_“_ Wait _.”_ Louis pushes Harry’s hands away as soon as his cock is exposed, and wraps his own around himself, jutting his hips forward to push the tip of his dick into that beautiful dimple, smearing pre-come, marking territory.

_“_ You always do that,” Harry groans fondly, then he chases the wetness with his tongue wantonly. Playful and devastating in three seconds. It’s too much.

Louis feeds his cock into Harry’s open mouth, mindful of the fact that he’s got a show to perform the next day, and Harry slurps eagerly like he’s been starved for it, groaning with pleasure when Louis tugs at his hair. Not nearly the fistful that Louis used to enjoy, but still good, if the sounds Harry’s making are anything to go by.

“Lou,” Harry begs when he pulls off to lick lower, tonguing the seam between Louis’s balls. He releases the hands previously clasped in his lap and wiggles his fingers, an unspoken request.

“Sure, course,” Louis allows, shifting away from the worktop and further toward Harry so he can grasp his bottom in his big hands. Harry squeezes and pulls apart his cheeks with a moan, rubbing a careful finger directly over Louis’s hole as he takes his dick deep into his mouth again. Louis can’t help but buck a little into Harry’s mouth at the dual sensations.

“You want to get your mouth on me, don’t you?” Louis babbles. “Wanna eat me out. Maybe I’ll let you tomorrow. In the shower.”

Harry whimpers, brows pulling together as one hand abandons Louis’s bum to unzip his trousers. 

They don’t last long. It’s been weeks since Louis’s had anything more than a lonely wank to porn, but Harry likely has no excuse. He gives Harry a brief warning and the option to pull off before he’s coming down Harry’s throat, and Harry keeps him there, groaning with his mouth full of softening cock as he releases into his hand.

They take a minute to catch their breath, Louis bracing himself against the worktop, Harry resting his forehead heavily against Louis’s hip.

“Up,” Harry eventually requests with a groan. Louis grips Harry’s upper arms and Harry staggers upright. He makes a face, showing Louis his sticky left hand, before heading over to the sink to rinse off, trousers still undone. Louis pulls his trackies up, then busies himself looking for the takeout drawer.

“Right side of the fridge,” Harry tells him without looking up from his washing up. “Cleaning crew might’ve binned ‘em.”

“They did,” Louis confirms, frowning down at the tiny patch of dust in the empty drawer. “We can look it up online. What’re you thinking?”

“Could go for a curry,” Harry muses, looking around the sparse kitchen, wet hands in the air until he shrugs and wipes them on his hoodie.

Louis hums in speculation, pulling out his phone. 

“Alright.” Silence again, while Louis pulls up a list of local Indian delivery places. They stare at one another. “So, just the usual then?”

“Right. Yeah, the usual. Maybe a salad too, if they’ve got it.”

“Sure.” 

It’s strange, Louis thinks as he orders, to know someone as well as he and Harry know one another, and yet, to be in this sort of place, meeting up for hookups around the world and little else. He can’t even remember the last actual phone conversation they’ve had. They’d once spent every waking moment together and cherished it. They once thought they’d be married.

It might be completely stupid, given everything, but Louis can’t totally give up on that pipe dream, likely far, far down the road, when Harry’s finally ready to be out of the public eye. Louis’s career will long have since fizzled, of course.

“I’m gonna go shower,” Harry says, moving to grab his bag from where he’d left it on the kitchen table.

“Good, you smell like jizz.”

Harry just throws him the middle finger over his shoulder as he ascends the stairs. “Shout when the food’s here,” he calls out. “I am _not_ eating reheated Indian.”

Louis helps himself to a Corona in the fridge and goes out to have a cigarette to pass the time. Harry’s never been a quick bather, even on a time crunch, and the nearest Indian delivery is ages away. He responds to an email he’s been avoiding about setting up his next Instagram post. He goes inside and starts fiddling with the TV, queuing up Netflix for something to watch. One thing that’s nice about him and Harry is they have compatible tastes in television and film. When all else fails, they can tune into something they both enjoy and ignore one another.

So yeah, they watch a lot of Netflix.

Twenty minutes into an old Black Mirror episode, Harry pads down into the rec room freshly showered and snug in a hooded jumper and basketball shorts. He curls right up next to Louis on the couch, soft and sated.

“Hi,” he says.

Louis hums in response, putting his arm around Harry’s broad shoulders and running a hand through the damp hair at the base of his neck. Harry shivers, smiling, then leans forward and lines the contents of his hoodie pocket up on the coffee table one by one: phone, lube, condom, vape, in a neat little row.

Louis ignores the tiny, sharp jab to his heart at the sight of the condom. It’s been like this now, for months, barring a few apparent slip-ups (usually drug or alcohol-related). But Harry’s never commented on it, so Louis hasn’t either.

Louis should probably get tested if he’s being honest with himself. But he can’t really bring himself to care.

“We’ve seen this one,” Harry says, head dropping heavily onto Louis’s shoulder. “Thought we left off on series two.” Whoops. Louis pulls a face as Harry sits up, playfully indignant. “You were supposed to wait for me, you wanker!”

“I don’t recall you ever explicitly mentioning that,” Louis hedges, dodging Harry’s swat.

“Next you’ll tell me that you watched the Breaking Bad finale without me too – oh, wait! That _actually_ happened!”

“Oh, get over it already,” Louis scoffs, shoving Harry away from him. Harry falls overdramatically, shoving his face into the cushions. “You were away and I wanted to watch it.”

“No self-control,” Harry bemoans into the couch. 

Louis rucks up Harry’s hoodie and buries his face into his back. “Sorry, baby,” he says against Harry’s skin. Harry yelps and jerks away like he’s been burned, and Louis leans back quickly. Rationally, he knows it’s just Harry’s reaction to being tickled, but the rejection stings just the same.

“Your beard tickles,” Harry whines, itching furiously at his back and shoving his hoodie back down.

“You’re just jealous,” Louis snarks back, flicking Harry on his barely-fuzzy chin. Harry settles back against him, and even out of Louis’s periphery he can sense the confused pull of Harry’s eyebrows at the sudden tension. “What?” he snaps.

“Nothing,” Harry retorts churlishly, easily riled as usual. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing. What’s wrong with you?” Louis challenges, turning to look at him, matching Harry’s slow, reluctant grin as the strange moment passes as quickly as it arose.

“Nothing,” Harry repeats. “What’s wrong with–”

Louis pats him on the knee. “Quit while you’re ahead, Curly.”

“What?” Harry’s fully grinning now. “It’s funny.”

“Moment’s passed, love.”

The buzzer sounds for the gate, just in time, thinks Louis. Harry groans and stands, shuffling towards the door.

“Just gonna walk down there,” he explains as he heads for the door rather than the intercom.

“Don’t shove your feet into my–“ the side door slamming cuts Louis off mid-threat, most definitely on purpose, and he doesn't doubt that if he got off his arse to look out the window he’d see Harry grinning childishly back at him, enormous feet ruining the backs of Louis’s pristine white trainers they’re shoved in. The house slippers Louis had purchased for Harry for this exact reason two Christmases ago sit unused in their Cheshire cottage neither of them seems to be capable of bringing themselves to sell.

He spends the next few minutes waiting in WhatsApp, replying to the lads’ group chat and reading some of the nonsense his sisters say to one another in the family one. It’s been a rough year for all of them, and Louis’s absence certainly hasn’t helped. He visits when he can, but sometimes it’s just… too painful. Nothing is the same anymore, personally or professionally. 

Harry makes his way back into the house just in time to save Louis from a depressive spiral, bringing with him the scent of spices, and whistling _“Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High”._

“Get me a glass of milk, would ya?” Harry requests as he shoves Louis’s feet off the coffee table to set down the food.

“Get your own bloody milk,” Louis grumbles, but he gets up anyway and pads into the kitchen. He hopes Harry’s still got an electric kettle hiding in one of these cupboards. Otherwise, night ruined.

He snags two more beers for himself and gets the milk for Harry. He fills a glass to the top, just to be a shit, but curses himself when he has to creep slowly back into the rec room, beer in one hand and milk in the other. Harry’s taken off his hoodie and is naked from the waist up, already with a mouthful of his vindaloo. He gestures for the milk, shaking his head disdainfully when he sees what Louis’s done, then puts his mouth right up against the glass while it’s still in Louis’s hand, slurping loudly. Louis yelps as milk splashes down onto his hand.

“Deserved it,” Harry says through his mouthful of food. Louis wipes his hand on Harry’s hoodie draped over the armrest, eliciting a garbled “heeey!” from Harry.

Louis takes his place beside Harry and uses his lighter to crack open the first beer before he opens his tikki masala chicken. Beside him, Harry eats as he’ll never have a meal again, stabbing chicken and salad onto his fork in big combined bites, pausing only to take large gulps of milk between them.

“Feeling good about tomorrow?” Louis asks, picking at his meal. “Must not be too nervous, then?” 

Harry snorts. “Yeah, right. It’s just like… fifteen people in a room.”

Louis winces in commiseration. He’d take a full arena over a handful of people any day. There’s not nearly enough energy in the room. It makes you feel much more exposed.

“You’ll smash is, as usual.” He does always smash it, honestly. Nothing makes Louis prouder or more envious than watching Harry on stage in his element.

“Thanks,” Harry says, a pleased little smile on his face. Then his eyes light up as he picks up some naan. “It’s _naan_ of your business,” he sings. “Get it?”

Louis doesn’t even dignify that with a response, eyebrows in his hairline as he reaches for his beer. Harry chuckles at his pun. “Gotta remember that one.”

They stare at the television for a while after that, Louis finishing off his second drink and opening the third, and Harry declaring himself full in no time with a belch and a pat to his belly. After a bit, Harry starts to fuss around with the containers, stacking his used ones and tossing them back in the plastic bag, then peering into Louis’s half full one with a comically speculative look on his face. Louis can’t help but snort in amusement.

“Take it, mate. Had a big lunch.” It’s not true. He just sort of... forgets to eat most days, save for late-night binges when the hunger suddenly hits him. Maybe Harry’ll be up for an In ‘N Out run later.

Harry hums noncommittally, but he casts a quick, furtive look Louis’s way as if he doesn’t quite believe him. He helps himself anyway, finishing off the rest of Louis's meal quickly. Then he adds Louis’s empty bottle and the two beer caps to the bag and brings it all with his empty glass into the kitchen.

Harry picks his phone up from the coffee table when he returns, typing furiously with his thumbs for several minutes, tongue between his teeth. It’s been lighting up with text and email notifications for the last half hour.

“All good at Harry Styles Headquarters?” Louis asks drily. Harry glances up at him, then back down again.

“Yup,” he says belatedly. “Just confirming rehearsal time for tomorrow. Oh, and Max wanted to go out tonight. Says he’s got some good shit.”

Louis doesn’t even know who Max is.

“Well, have fun.” It pretty much comes out just as bitchy as he’d thought it, and Harry reacts accordingly, rolling his eyes and scoffing.

“Oh, fuck off. Obviously, I’m not going anywhere, I’ve got early rehearsals and a gig tomorrow!”

Louis averts his eyes, lifting his shoulder in some semblance of a shrug. Beside him, Harry’s body relaxes, and he turns so his knee knocks into Louis’s. “‘Sides,” Harry says, “already got big plans. Sooner, rather than later, hopefully.” He nudges the condom and lube bottle in Louis’s direction with one ridiculously long finger, shit-eating grin on his face.

Louis takes a moment to tamp down his insecurities. _“Big_ plans, eh?” he teases, eyes trailing to where Harry’s not-so-subtly readjusting his hips. “You saying I’m a sure thing?”

“I mean,” Harry drawls slowly, inching even closer. He gestures with his head to the beer hovering halfway to Louis’s lips. “I wined you. I dined you.”

“Conversation’s shit,” Louis remarks drily. Harry winces a bit at that, and Louis feels a sort of sudden vengeful pride. At least Harry’s aware of how shitty everything’s been, too.

Harry hesitates, opening his mouth and closing it again like he’s not quite sure what to do or say to get them back on track. Louis takes pity on him, not too keen on opening that can of worms at the moment, thank you very much, and also because he really very much loves sex with Harry, especially if this is the only way he’ll have him for the time being.

“Come ‘ere then,” Louis says, patting his lap. “Keep me company whilst I finish my drink.”

The troubled look in Harry’s eyes clears quickly. He cheers softly and dives face-first into Louis’s lap, rubbing his cheek into the smooth fabric before settling on his side, facing the TV. Louis’s hand automatically goes for his hair, and Harry hums contentedly as Louis works his fingers through the strands. It’s soft, and not nearly as snarly as it was when it was longer.

Louis takes his time, leisurely sipping whilst he pays half of his attention to the telly and half to the sound of Harry’s breathing, not completely erratic, but hitching on occasion every time Louis’s short fingernails scratch at his scalp. Eventually, Louis's fingers trail lower, tracing the date on Harry’s right shoulder, dipping into Harry’s collarbone and across the smaller of the two sparrows. Harry’s practically holding his breath, still as a statue, but he responds without hesitation to Louis’s gentle tap at his chin, obeying the nonverbal command to turn his head.

Louis leans down, and Harry tilts up, and their lips connect. Harry’s mouth is already open, lips eager to devour. Louis lets him for a while, even though he’s hunched over awkwardly and their lips can’t quite line up due to the angle. It reminds Louis of one night shortly after X-Factor when he’d nervously waited until Harry’d gotten pleasantly buzzed to suggest they try the Spider-Man kiss, his ultimate comic-loving, gay boy fantasy. Harry had eagerly agreed, of course, and hung his head off the bed, giggling the entire time. And it had been weird and nerdy and pretty fucking anticlimactic, but hilarious just the same.

Harry laughs into his mouth now, clearly on the same wavelength, and Louis joins in.

“You were such a dork,” Harry chuckles breathily.

“You weren’t complaining,” Louis retorts back, poking him in the dimple. “You’d have done anything I asked back then.”

Harry swallows, eyes searching Louis’s face. “Yeah.”

Things were easier, then. Louis doubts very much Harry could give him what he wanted now, even if he were able, even if Louis knew for certain what that was. That ship has sailed and long been signed away in an iron-clad contract.

“Well...” Louis smirks slowly. “I’d like to defile this rather expensive rug with you. What do you say to that?” He gestures with a nod to the soft white shag beneath his feet.

Harry purses his mouth in that way he does to hold back a grin. “Haven’t got a choice, have I?” he teases. “If I do anything you ask?”

Louis trails a hand lightly down the plane of Harry’s stomach and palms his hard on fleetingly. Harry groans and bucks into the air when Louis pulls his hand back. Louis pushes at Harry's shoulders, and he takes the hint and sits up. Louis lies on his back on the rug and kicks his trackies and pants off. The rug feels soft under his bare legs.

Harry falls to his knees beside him and presses the lube into Louis’s hand. “Wanna watch you get ready just like this.”

Louis shakes his head. “Don’t need to.”

Harry pouts. “But I wanna watch.”

Louis rolls his eyes, but acquiesces, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it in the direction of his trousers. Then he lies back and presses his heels together, snapping open the lube. 

Harry breathes heavily as he stands and scrambles out of his basketball shorts quick as a flash, hard cock bouncing as he kicks them off onto the floor. He tugs himself a few times, other hand teasing his balls, biting his lips so hard they go white as Louis slides wet fingers slowly into himself.

“You always want it so bad, huh,” Louis says, unfiltered, feeling proud as Harry watches. He’s missed that look. All-consuming want. Like nothing in the world could be any sexier. His dick, which had flagged a bit as he started fingering himself, pops back up on its own accord. “You’re such a slag.”

“You are,” Harry retorts offhandedly, crouching at Louis’s head. He angles his big dick for Louis’s mouth, and Louis closes his eyes, tongue outstretched, for his prize. Harry slaps at his lips a few times with it before pushing in. The angle is awful. Louis’s got a mouthful of dick and a noseful of balls. They smell and taste like soap. It’s not very sexy, but he’s missed it. Above him, Harry groans in pleasure.

Harry crouches over awkwardly to lap at him, tonguing and up and down Louis’s shaft as Louis works his fingers in and out of his body. He brings his left hand up to pinch Louis’s nipple. Louis jerks on instinct, nearly choking himself on cock. He slaps at Harry’s thigh and Harry lifts himself off, laughing out an apology.

Harry turns and crawls over Louis until they’re face to face, holding his weight up with his forearms. He grins, then leans down to peck him on the lips. They rut against one another for a while, and Harry’s hands wander up from Louis’s arse to tweak at his nipples. This time, it’s a welcome sensation.

“Wanna do it like this?” Harry asks, eyes trailing like fire up and down Louis’s body. 

They’ve had all kinds of strange sex in weird positions and interesting places. Harry’s quirkiness definitely extends into the bedroom. He’ll never forget the time Harry’d cheekily pocketed a pair of lacy women’s underwear that had been thrown at him on stage, only to shock Louis with them on that night in their hotel room. Afterward, when Louis had expressed that it might not be entirely sanitary to share underpants with their thirsty fans, Harry had shared that he liked the idea of girls giving him them imagining him being turned on by it, only for Harry to turn around and get fucked in them.

And that had only been the beginning. Jockstraps and plugs and the Kama Sutra, restraints and collars and watersports later, and Louis can comfortably say he’s tried almost everything once.

It’s nice though, to just have regular sex sometimes. He misses the feeling of just them together– without all the superfluous shit– when they’re apart. He wonders what sort of wild shit Harry gets up to without him these days, that he’s suddenly content to go vanilla.

Louis tightens his thighs around Harry’s waist. “Yeah. Like this.” 

Harry leans away to grab the lube forgotten on the ground. He’s just lubed up and poised to push in when he raises his head. “Fuck. Condom! Almost forgot.”

Louis can’t help but loll his head back, sighing in disappointment. Harry only laughs, wiping his sticky hand on the rug before ripping open the condom with his teeth. “I know. Sorry.” 

Finally ready, Harry yanks Louis’s legs higher then folds them pretzel-style against his chest. Louis groans. He’s never been particularly flexible, especially lately. He used to do a bit of yoga with Harry back in the day, but it’s been years.

Harry tugs himself to full hardness again, and Louis bites his lip as Harry finally, carefully pushes in, forcing an exhale out around his teeth. He grips Harry’s forearms tight as he adjusts, then relaxes when he’s ready. It feels just like it always does, the pleasure just on the edge of pain, so full and deep.

Harry nearly bends Louis in half to kiss him as he starts thrusting. Louis groans, legs protesting the stretch, but kisses back, panting against Harry’s mouth in time with his sharp, quick thrusts. Harry leans back up on his hands to give Louis a breather, and to watch the movement of Louis’s hand on his cock.

“I’m so fucking sweaty,” he complains as he wipes a drop off his chin before it lands on Louis.

“Make me come, then,” Louis snarks back. As punishment for his lip, Harry tugs sharply at Louis’s nipple, thrusts stuttering.

“Harder,” Louis urges, reaching with his other hand to tug on his balls. He’s not usually one to like being jackhammered, generally preferring slow and deep, but he wants to feel it tonight. Being with Harry makes him feel alive.

Harry grins wolfishly, then sets a quick, rough pace. He squeezes Louis’s hips as he thrusts, then lifts Louis’s legs higher to see the place they’re connected. He jackhammers hard, and Louis closes his eyes as the angle sends fissures of pleasure through his core. He’s so close. Louis whines and tugs himself off, keening as he comes up his stomach. Harry pants above him, slowing his thrusts to a grind.

“Keep going,” Louis urges, breathless. “It’s fine.”

Harry redoubles his efforts, face screwed up in concentration. Louis winces, the drag not as enjoyable as it was mere seconds ago. His legs are cramping up. But he needs this.

“Look at me, please,” Harry grits out. “I want to see your eyes.”

It’s almost too intimate, making eye contact. He only manages a few seconds before he’s forced to look away. Thankfully, Harry’s too focused on his impending orgasm to notice. He closes his eyes tight as he comes, grinding impossibly deep into Louis as his cock pulses. Then he collapses onto his forearms, sweaty chest covering Louis’s. “Fuck,” he says, succinctly.

Louis pecks him on the lips, then pushes at his shoulders. “Get off me.”

“Ready?” Harry half-asks, half-warns as he grips onto the condom and slowly pulls out. 

“Fuck,” Louis groans, stretching his legs out over the top of Harry’s thighs, careful not to jostle the pool of come on his stomach. “Pretty sure I pulled a muscle.”

Harry laughs and slaps Louis’s flank. “You can do me in the morning and we’ll be even.”

“Deal.” 

Harry grimaces as he peels the condom off and sets it on the coffee table to bin later. Then he leans over Louis to reach his forgotten basketball shorts. He drops them carelessly onto Louis’s stomach.

“Thanks for lovingly cleaning me up,” Louis grumbles playfully, swiping at the come as best he can without getting up. 

“Hey, coulda grabbed your clothes instead.” 

Unspoken, they move together to the couch, where it’s just barely large enough to lie next to one another without Louis needing to lay all his weight on Harry to fit. Harry’s outstretched arm supports Louis’s neck, and Louis nuzzles into his side, because he can, and because it feels good.

“Needed that,” Harry sighs, after several minutes of comfortable silence. “Always seems to get my extra energy out before a show, y’know?”

Louis resists the urge to snort. Of course, he fucking knows. It’s how it always went before big events. Harry fucks the stress away, Louis pulls a muscle. Gladly.

Suddenly, it hits him, and his stomach roils. He’s done his best not to imagine what Harry’s been up to with his travels and events and entourage for the past two years without him always around. But now, with Harry’s tour looming, it’s all much more real.

“So who’s gonna…” he clears his throat. “When you’re on the road. Touring.”

Harry tilts his head to glance down at him. His eyes, still foggy, narrow in confusion. “Huh?” he asks groggily.

Louis shifts. He shouldn’t even be asking this – he has no right to. They've been carefully avoiding talking about what the other has been up to romantically when apart, among other taboo topics. But he’s got to fucking know.

“I mean. Like, before the shows. Do you have a person in mind, or?”

“For what?”

Louis shifts again, annoyed, nearly jostling himself off the sofa. Harry grips his bicep tight to help keep him in place. “You know.” 

“Oh,” Harry says. He waggles his eyebrows. “Well, what are you up to for the next few months?”

Louis snorts. “Seriously.”

Harry laughs, but it comes out nervous. “Well, um. I am sort of trying it with someone.”

Louis frowns, sitting up. He shouldn't be surprised. But hearing about it still stings, even though he brought it upon himself. “What? Who?”

Harry looks up at the ceiling. “We met through Jeff.”

Louis rolls his eyes. Of course. “Right,” he drawls. “So, what you’re telling me, mere moments after you came up my arse, is that you’ve got a boyfriend. Or girlfriend. Who you’ve already cheated on.”

Harry sits up. “It’s not cheating, it’s you.”

Louis snorts.

“Besides, I wouldn’t call it a relationship,” Harry hedges. “We just figured we’d have a little fun in the meantime. They’re really, like, modern. Quirky, too.” He nudges Louis in the ribs. “Just like me, yeah?” As if the thought of Harry and anyone he’s seeing having so much in common would ever be a selling point for Louis.

Louis pushes his hand away. “You should’ve told me.”

Harry scowls. “I just did.”

Louis reaches blindly, hands finding purchase on a pillow. He whacks Harry with it, hard. “Before you slept with me!”

Face dark, Harry wrenches the pillow out of Louis’s hands, then hurls it at the wall. It narrowly misses a framed piece of artwork. “Why the fuck does it matter? You’d have fucked me anyway!”

Louis hates that he’s probably right. It mightn’t have stopped him. Still, it’s the principle of the thing.

“It’s different,” Louis snaps, rising from the sofa. “Seeing someone is different than hookups and you fucking know it. _Some_ of us have a sense of loyalty.”

“Fuck off,” Harry growls, nostrils flaring. “At least I’m not fucking… writing songs about how fucked up our relationship is.”

Louis snorts. “Harry, you wrote songs about one-night stands, and groupies and waking up next to someone who looks like me! And the songs that _are_ about me aren’t exactly fucking love songs, are they?”

“They’re love songs,“ Harry argues. But the wind has left his sails a bit. “I loved you. I do love you.” 

Louis looks at the ground, swallowing down the sudden urge to cry. “Well, same.”

Harry sighs. “You should stop, though. Doesn’t exactly make me look good.” 

“Fuck you,” Louis retorts without heat. 

“We’ve got to keep them on our side,” Harry continues. “It’s a huge demographic.”

Louis shrugs. “Who cares, anyway? Telling the truth won’t make any difference.” 

“My team cares,” Harry insists, sitting up straighter. “It’s not exactly good for my image.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Do you even hear yourself? You’re saying you can write whatever bullshit you want while I’ve got to watch my words about the actual truth?”

“You don’t get it,” Harry says. “Look. For one set of fans, there’s plausible deniability, and for the other, there’s the fantasy. There’s a formula–“

“Yeah, thanks for the lesson, Jeff,” Louis spits out. “Wanker. Both of you.”

Harry, showing remarkable restraint, doesn’t rise to the bait. “It’s not– just. This is all I have ever wanted. And everything is going so well. We both know how quickly things can crash and burn. I just want to stack the deck as much as possible.” 

Curious, how a statement can tug at one’s heartstrings and course fury through the veins all in one go.

“Fuck you,” Louis says again, with more feeling. “And fuck your image. And fuck my image, while we’re at it. No thanks to you.” 

Harry snarls. “Oh, fucking get over it. You can’t take everything personally. It’s just business.” 

“Just business,” Louis parrots back shrilly. “You posed for paps at the airport days after I fucking got arrested. There were articles!”

”It wasn’t my idea,” Harry sputters, outraged. “I called you! I called you and asked you if it was fine.”

“Yeah, sure, it’s definitely fine with me that my ex uses one of the shittiest things that’s ever happened to me as a stepping stone to his career.”

Harry roars and swivels, kicking out at the first thing in sight. The coffee table topples onto its side with a crash. He’s lucky the glass didn’t shatter. “You always do this! You can’t fucking say something’s alright and then bloody hold it against me when I take your word for it!” Harry yells.

“Look at me!” Louis shrieks back, jerking his arms apart. “Do I look fucking alright to you?!”

Harry falters, eyes widening as they sweep over Louis’s body quickly. Too late, Louis remembers his nakedness. It makes the scrutiny all the more humiliating, even though he asked for it. Harry’s expression is softening into something like pity.

“Lou,” Harry says. “Hey-“

Louis dodges his outstretched arm. “Going for a smoke.”

Harry doesn’t stop him as he pulls on his clothes, pats his pocket, and exits out the sliding door. Curiously, beneath the relief, he feels a twinge of disappointment. He doesn’t want to go there, but it hurts that Harry doesn’t ask– _really_ ask– how he's doing. Probably because he doesn’t want to know the answer. _Louis_ doesn’t even know the answer.

The sky glows orangey-pink as the sun sets in LA, casting the hills in shadows. It’s his favorite time of day in California. He leans against the railing and lights a cigarette. His ears come down a bit from his shoulders on his first inhale. Being a smoker hadn’t been in his life plan. It started as a way to keep his hands busy, a way to escape a room he didn’t want to be in, a way to rebel. These days it’s about the only constant in his life. 

He’s on his third by the time the sliding door opens and shuts. The outdoor lights have come on automatically as the sky darkened. In the distance, LA glows and glitters. 

Harry hums disapprovingly at the butts lying on his concrete patio. He pushes them with his bare toe through the crack between the gap of his glass balcony and into the brush below. 

“You should cut back.”

Louis turns his head and blows smoke in his face. “You sound like Twitter.”

Harry snorts, pulling the throw blanket tighter over his naked shoulders. “All of Twitter wants you to quit smoking?”

“Basically.” It’s immature, but the coddling by his fans sort of makes him want to smoke even harder. So few things in his life seem to truly belong to him. “You’d know if you ever came online.”

Harry scoffs. “No thanks. They’re a bunch of dicks.”

“That’s being generous.” 

He admires Harry’s self-control. He knows it’s more self-preservation than anything– Harry’s always been sensitive to criticism– but at least he doesn’t have to see some of the things Louis reads. It’s become a compulsion at this point, looking through his tag. Sometimes it makes him feel better. Usually, it doesn’t. 

Harry holds out a hand. “Give me a pull.”

Louis hands it over, watching the way Harry sucks in his cheeks out of the corner of his eye. Harry doesn’t let anyone see him smoke if he can help it. Only the people he trusts the most. Despite everything, Louis and Harry are connected in ways no one else ever will be. Maybe it's part of the reason they have a hard time letting go.

They stand there for a while, shoulder to shoulder, passing the cigarette back and forth like they've done a thousand times before. Then Harry ducks his head, hesitating before saying, "It really is casual."

Louis sighs. Of all things, Harry half-apologizes for _that._ "It doesn't matter, mate. It's none of my business. It's not like I've been a monk." It's half a lie. Lately, he's hardly had the energy to keep himself company, much less entertain some hookup.

Harry grimaces at the ground, and Louis feels a tug of vengeful pride. Harry's jealousy issues are legendary amongst their tiny, intimate circle.

“Album’s being delayed again,” Louis says, taking a chance. It’ll end up in a fight because it always does when they talk about work. But he hasn’t got anyone else to talk to about it. He hasn’t got any industry friends he trusts with the truth. His mates back home don’t have the emotional capacity for much of anything. 

Harry frowns. “Why?” He stubs the cigarette out on the railing, then hauls his arm back and throws it. It lands a few feet away. “That sucked.”

“Who the fuck knows anymore.” Louis rests his forehead on his arms. He has an idea, but he’s not ready to fully entertain it. “It was what they wanted. I’ve done everything they want.” He’s so fucking sick of doing what everyone else wants. “I’m so tired of writing songs.” 

Harry chews on his lip, eyes somewhere over Louis’s right shoulder. Louis knows he could once relate, but it’s different now. He’s got a team that’s working for a common goal. “I guess just… keep pressing on,” he says finally.

“Sage advice,” Louis chuckles bemusedly. “Really, really wise.”

“I dunno what you want me to say,” Harry says. “I mean, we’re kinda each other’s competition.” 

Louis stiffens. “What?”

Harry sighs, running a hand through his unruly hair. “If fans only have a finite amount of money, they’ve got to choose who they support sometimes, yeah? Obviously, I want you to do well.”

The ‘ _but I want me to do better,’_ hangs unspoken in the air between them. 

Louis shivers, chilled to the bone despite being fully dressed. Every man for himself. He’s had a few years now, to get used to Harry’s changed mindset, but it never ceases to sting.

“Maybe if we were still together,” Harry muses aloud. “But you don’t want that.” 

Louis reminds himself to breathe. Wills himself to unclench his jaw. He might have instigated the split, but Harry hadn’t even put up a fight. And Harry using it as emotional blackmail when the mood suits him cuts like a knife every time. 

He can’t keep doing this. This back and forth of being together, but not really, of supporting one another only when it’s convenient. Fucking, and fighting, and doing it all over again. 

And yet, Harry in his life has sometimes been the only thing that keeps him upright. 

He could probably use some therapy. 

"Can we just–" Harry's fists turn white with the strength of his grip on the railing "–not? Not tonight."

Louis laughs, just once. He tucks his hands under his armpits. "Are we ever?"

Hary doesn't reply. He shuffles behind him, naked body flush against him, and pulls the blanket over Louis’s shoulders, too. He nuzzles into Louis’s neck and shifts his hips forward until his dick is slotted along the seam of Louis’s trackies. 

Louis sighs, and despite himself, lets his body melt into Harry’s arms. 

He can’t keep doing this, but it’s no use stopping tonight.

He’ll think about it tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> The [fic post](https://ham-palpert.tumblr.com/post/634710007846453248/keep-on-coming-back-by-hampalpert-in-the-fall-of)!


End file.
